


vox populi

by bellmare



Category: Gatchaman Crowds
Genre: Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have never believed in heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vox populi

You don't believe in heroes.

And, yet, it has come down to this. How laughable, to be rescued by the very messianic saviours so often idolised by the masses -- especially after what you've said to them. You don't know what to think.

It's been two days since you've taken refuge with the Gatchaman. Two days since you've last gone home; two days since your own identity's been used against you. You don't want to think about being cornered prey trapped in your own home, caged in while a monster with your face casts the apples of Eris into the volatile ebb and flow of humanity.

Being at the mercy of Berg-Katse, you think bitterly, puts everything you've ever said into perspective. Perhaps to dream of a world without heroes is too much, too soon. You'll have to wait -- at least, until Katse's dispatched.

"All this, wrought from my own wishes." You don't need to lift your head to know you're not alone. "Maybe the twenty-sixth was correct. I'm being punished for my selfishness, aren't I?"

"Hmm." The girl -- Hajime -- flops down next to you; the cushion compresses slightly beneath her. "I wouldn't say that. That's not what Berg-Katse's interested in."

"I suppose," you reply. "My apologies; that was narrow-minded of me."

"Oh, not at all," Hajime says and smiles. You eye her, sidelong, as she gazes intently at you. "What ... what seems to be the problem?"

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again! You really do look nicer without make-up."

You stare at her. "I've been meaning to get to that," you say. "How did you know--"

"How, I wonder?" Hajime hums under her breath and blows out her cheeks; she taps her finger against her lower lip, pensive. She lowers her voice and says, "that's a secret" -- quiet, conspiratorial, playful. She winks. "But," she adds as an afterthought, "I already knew who you are. I just hadn't really met you, yet."

You still can't figure her out.

.

The Gatchaman are a close-knit unit. A family, almost, you think as you watch their interactions.

You've never felt the need for people like them; you were always content by yourself, with only your intellect and your AIs to rely on.

Something bubbles up the back of your throat; you think, irrationally, of throwing something, anything. Hurling something fragile through a window or a wall, whichever will be more satisfying. You think of the tablet with the error screen that mocks you, every time your fingers brush against the display. You'll feel slightly better with cracks spiderwebbing its screen, static interference running across discoloured pixels unable to output the correct visual data.

You realise you've been chewing on your thumbnail again, and whip your hand from your mouth. The quiet, beribboned girl curled up on the sofa beside you regards you from beneath lowered lashes.

"There's nothing bad or frightening about wanting to destroy something," she says. She brushes a lock of hair from her eyes, and stares straight ahead at Ichinose as she speaks. "If you want to scream, or cry, or throw something, that's all okay, too."

.

You're bored. You're tired of whiling the hours away at the apartments where the rest of the Gatchaman stay. "Why don't you come to school with us today?" Hajime proposes. Like it's nothing. Like it doesn't matter. You stare down at your tablet. It'd be a simple matter, to hack the school network and place some fabricated records into the system; child's play, to plant fake files and dossiers about a sickly student who doesn't attend class all that often. You don't need X to achieve that; you've got your own talent to fall back on.

For god's sake. You're Rui Ninomiya. You've managed all this perfectly well before, before GALAX came into fruition.

Right?

Right.

It sounds wrong.

"After all, you said you wanted to go out and about a little, didn't you?" Ichinose says. You nod and hesitate, fingers stilling over the tablet's touchscreen. You've done it before. Theoretically, there's nothing to stop you.

 _The first step to sowing the seeds of chaos is to disrupt the established order,_ a voice at the back of your mind murmurs. It sounds a lot like Berg-Katse. The urge to hurl the tablet through the window of a high-rise apartment resurfaces. You can hear the shrill, grating cry of breaking glass; you allow yourself a grimace of satisfaction at the prospect.

"Anyway," Ichinose's saying as she upends a shopping bag onto your bed. You set down the tablet and pick up the uniforms, running your fingers experimentally over the fabric. "It'll be a way of easing back to your normal life, right?"

"In a way, yes," you say, and settle on the girls' uniform. Just like old times, you think as you pull on the dress-shirt. It's nice of Ichinose to bring both; you'll always prefer going out as a schoolgirl, anyway.

Ichinose laces her fingers behind her back and turns away with a jaunty spring, addressing the cupboard while you fiddle with the skirt. "Though it might be a little boring for you, the classes there probably aren't as advanced as you might prefer!"

You smooth down the pleats, and knot the school scarf around your neck. "Thank you for your consideration," you say. Your voice sounds awkward, stiff. "I'm done changing, by the way."

Ichinose pivots and claps her hands together, then settles down on your bedspread, legs tucked neatly beneath her. She watches intently, fingers steepled beneath her chin, as you open your make-up case and set out the brushes before you.

"Say, would you mind if I helped with your make-up today?"

"Beg your pardon," you say, taken aback. "Why?"

"You seem to have a little bit of trouble moving your right hand," she replies, and cocks her head to the side. "You don't have to be so cool all the time, you know! It's okay if things aren't perfect all the time. And, wasn't that the whole point of GALAX? To have people helping each other and updating the world, showing everyone what a wonderful world it really is?"

She sounds so guileless. You wonder if she's mocking you. You can deal with it if it comes from her, you suppose. You have a lot of pride to swallow, after the events of the week.

Your fingers clench around the mascara wand. "Cultivating a perfect appearance is all I have now," you say bluntly. Nevertheless, you pass over the brushes and bottles to Ichinose anyway, crossing your legs and shifting closer across the bedspread. You wonder, too, if she chose it -- maybe from spares at her apartment. Nobody else, you reason, would have such colourfully-patterned sheets.

"Updating the world," you say bitterly as Ichinose leans closer, humming under her breath. "How foolish of me. It takes more than idealism to change it. Foundation first, please," you add, as Ichinose clips back a segment of the wig you've chosen today.

"Roger that! But, anyway ... I don't think you should discard your ideals at all!" Ichinose says. "Maybe just ... hmm, restructure them a little. We've all had to do a lot of reconsidering and restructuring lately! And, when everybody puts their new motivations and ideals together, it'll be like a great big collage! It'll be so avant-garde, wow!"

You smile faintly. It falters halfway to your eyes. "I'm envious," you say at last, lowering your gaze as Ichinose carefully applies eyeliner and shadow to the corners of your eyes; her brow's furrowed with concentration, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. You wonder, too, if she wears the same expression when encountered with a complicated do-it-yourself project. "You're ... definitely something."

"Well, thank you!" Ichinose says. There are false eyelashes stuck to her thumb; she blows against it, testing the set of the glue. "But so are you, you know! Without GALAX, a lot of good things wouldn't have happened; people wouldn't have the chance to expand their worlds and meet all kinds of other people they wouldn't normally get to know!"

You smile a little more, a little wider, absently combing through the strands of your current wig. Ash-blonde today, a mid-length bob that curls towards your jawline. "You're very kind," you say when Hajime holds up a mirror, watching as you check her handiwork. She's got a lighter touch than you're used to; a lot of subtle shades and neutrals, with a burst of colour around the eyes. Your eyes are drawn to the clip in your hair -- a small white bird, just like hers. A matched set.

"... too kind, as a matter of fact." You stand; Ichinose bounds to her feet as well. "Thank you, Ichin-- no, Hajime."

.

Nobody gives you a second glance at the school. You're grateful for that.

It's a nice change of pace, you think as you look out of the window. You've forgotten how pleasant mundanity is.

You can't avert your eyes forever.

.

Tachibana insists on escorting you back.

"I don't see why you have to take time out of your day to keep watch on me like this," you say, unknotting the school scarf. "Shouldn't you be keeping your comrade ... no." You cast around for the right words; a fruitless pursuit. "Shouldn't you be keeping your mentor company? He's had it far worse than I have."

Tachibana lowers his eyes. "Joe ... needs some space for a bit," he says at last; he looks stricken, guilty. You regret bringing the subject up. "He doesn't want to talk to anyone or do anything. Newbi-- Hajime thinks he'll come around when he wants to come around. All we can do now is give him some space, things like that." He shrugs helplessly. "It's been difficult, but no matter what he says, he'll always be the strongest person I know."

You shed the layers of a schoolgirl; you dab at the make-up and tug off your wig and change into slacks instead, and clip Hajime's hairpin to the breast pocket of your shirt -- you'll return that to her later. You're more conscious of your bandages when Tachibana's around, because all they really serve is to remind you of how reliant you were -- and still are -- on the Gatchaman. "Pride goeth before a fall," you say. Tachibana looks uncomfortable.

"I really must thank you," you say when you've put your glasses back on. "After everything I said about the world not needing heroes, not needing saviours ... well. You have my gratitude."

Tachibana laughs quietly. You watch as he sets a first-aid kit on his lap and pops the box open, then gazes expectantly at you. "As Hajime and O.D. always told me, you ... you don't sweat the small things. And, isn't that the whole principle of GALAX? To help people as much as you can, to bring people with different ideas together?"

Being reminded of GALAX makes something knot in the pit of your stomach. Your own magnum opus has been turned against you. Tachibana means well. You don't hold it against him.

"I started GALAX because I was tired of the way this world was run," you say; you don't need him to say anything. Wordlessly, you extend your arm and he unwraps the bandages, checking the healing and the scabbing. You don't want to owe more to the Gatchaman than you already do; you don't want to be in the debt of the quiet girl with the ribbons in her hair, the one who's spent the past few days sleeping her exhaustion away. Tachibana refuses to take no for an answer; you've tried to dissuade him but he insists it's for the better to have your wounds properly treated. It seems to be a matter of personal pride for him. _We're not running a tab,_ Hajime told you when you met her at the preschool. You didn't have to tell her everything; she'd taken it for granted that you'd go with her, with the rest of the Gatchaman.

You're glad, anyway, that she doesn't press for details.

Tachibana has thin scars on the backs of his hands and over his knuckles; doubtless, from iaijutsu practice. His palms are rough from wielding swords. He doesn't seem to notice your scrutiny, as he dabs antiseptic onto your skin and layers on fresh gauze.

"I wanted ... a revolution. Not a world where the strong would always be praised and glorified, but one where everybody would have a place; nobody would just be another cog in the system. Nobody would be meaningless."

"That's very admirable," Tachibana replies. His handiwork is slow, meticulous. You feel restless watching him.

"Its ironic that I often disguised myself and went about to observe the impact GALAX is having on people's lives, only to have even that turned against me now. I never wore the same appearance consecutively; I had so many different faces. All of that seems meaningless now. I trusted nobody except myself, and now it has come to this." You glance at him, sidelong. He wears a look of concentration almost identical to Hajime's, you realise -- brow furrowed, lips pressed together, nose wrinkled. "I apologise for doubting the Gatchaman and, above all, not being entirely honest with you all."

Tachibana smiles faintly. "Everybody has their own secrets to keep," he says and shrugs. He tucks the rolls of bandages and plasters and bottles of ointment back into the first-aid box, and clicks the lid shut. "Everyone has their own reasons ... whether it's wanting to be strong, or to change the world. It takes a special kind of strength to do that," he adds, and meets your eyes squarely. "What you wanted to do, what you still hope to achieve -- I think it's very admirable."

.

You're the only one around when Utsutsu wakes up. She's content to sit quietly with you, folding something in her hands. When you crane your neck to have a better look she catches your eye and makes to cover it, then relents. She spreads her fingers, just enough for you to make out the shape of an origami frog nestled beneath her palm. It's bright pink. "There are pink frogs too," she says by way of an explanation.

"Thank you for offering to help me," you tell her. Her cheeks colour; when she turns from you, you can make out the curve of her smile.

"I want to help people," she says.

For the first time in days, you can laugh. "So do I," you say.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, yes, did someone say OT3.


End file.
